So Simple in the Moonlight
by Achernar-amnis-faux
Summary: "It was a wonder how the sea could not be covered in ice, not even a tiny layer of shining frost. But how can you merge yourself in water if it is frozen? You just can't. So, maybe, that man with a dark, soaked, coat was lucky after all." [AU, Three shot, Puzzleshipping]
1. 1

_The title _"So simple in the moonlight"_ is from one of the songs that inspired me. This fanfiction is again a three shot but, __to try and follow the rhythm of the story itself, __the updates will be purposely irregular; second chapter will be posted in a week while third (and last) chapter will be posted one day after chapter two. It may sound weird but I assure you that it will make sense._

_Also, brace yourself because hardcore angst and second person narration (again. I'm that evil)._

_Thank you_ YamiYugiPuzzleshipper_ for helping me with the edit, even though I'm still grieving upon the killing of all those poor commas._

_Shonen-ai, malexmale, Major Depressive Disorder etc. Other warnings will follow. _Yugioh _doesn't belong to me *whines* life is that sad,_

_Enjoy!_

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><p>It was not his eyes that caught your attention. Oh yes, they were shiny, and rounded, and huge, and violet, and beautiful. But eyes are something that only other eyes can see, and you never trusted yours for judgment too much.<p>

It was his laugh. His bright, brisk, crystal clear laugh. A laugh that resonated inside your chest like the sound of a small, silvery bell. One of the few things that made you feel alive.

He always managed to make you feel alive.

Like that time that you had been laying on your couch, staring at the emptiness of the ceiling and analyzing each boring flake of dust that floated in the air. You remember so well his hand. It stroked your shoulder first, gently but firmly grabbing it. Gripping you back to reality. Then it slowly and softly moved to your cheek, and you turned to face him. And he smiled again. That bright, beautiful smile of his.

You two met in the night. A cold, winter night. It always happens in the evening. The world seems less dull and distant when there is no light to tell you how much of the world you are missing. But of all the things that you miss, you realized you didn't miss loneliness once you had lost it. It was peaceful beside him. Leaning your head on his shoulder was natural, soothing. Welcoming. He was always there.

He used to always surprise you. When he said your eyes were bright, when he said he loved the sound of your voice, that sound that you are slowly forgetting, when he said he loved the feeling of your fingers entwined with his. When he said he loved you.

And it was one of the last times that you sincerely cared about something. Maybe you did not care about him only because he made you feel better, more of a human, but because he seemed to enjoy being with you and you wanted him to keep enjoying his time. It wasn't complete selfishness, was it? If you still cared, maybe you would feel guilt at this point. But there is only the same pain as always, right in the middle of your chest, a void ready to suck in everything that you have left of yourself. There must still be something to suck in; you aren't all too sure. Maybe the void will be more skilled than you in finding out. And once you will again lose what you owned, would he still care?

Maybe he would…

Yes, he definitely would.

Once, you had a nightmare. You used to have nightmares almost every night and that is the reason you hate sleeping. Besides, you think you are absent and numb enough for yourself, you don't need to sleep to prove the world that you are quiet. The world does not seem to even notice your presence. And you ignore the world as well. But that time you dreamt something, you can't even remember what, but it was enough to move some of the tears that you had kept frozen inside your eyelids for so long. And he was there.

Tears strolled down your cheeks more easily after that time. And with each drop falling it was like a small bit of pain was strolling down, away from you as well. But it never went away completely and that was both scary and frustrating. And then you used to cry at nights, sometimes, because the feeling was too much and you were not used to bearing the weight of emotions.

In the morning it will all be better.

It was always like that; he said that tomorrow would make things right, that the sun would fade your worries away. Night is for dreams and chimeras, it's not real; you don't have to fear. But you did not fear the night. It was the day you were afraid of, because in the day you couldn't find your place, you were assaulted by anguish and worries, fearful of facing another twenty-four hour time of your life. When the night came, most of these hours were already gone for good. But he said not to worry your head anyway.

His arms were warm; your coat has never been able to replace them in the slightest. His hands were gentle, never rushing you and always waiting for you to respond to their touch; hands not meant to let go. His lips were soft, soft as his words, as his smile when you used to say that you were confused. And his mouth was warm too, warmer than his arms even, and it didn't have to voice out words to speak to you clearly.

But you had to ruin everything, hadn't you?

What could you possibly offer? Pointless promises, some cries, some nightmares, some empty kisses from your dry mouth. He didn't deserve that. He was worth much better.

You probably broke two hearts that day.

Which one was the most shattered you don't know, but maybe it wasn't yours. You have always been so selfish, so cowardly, so fearful. Why didn't you work on yourself, you could make things right, better at least. But you were sure you were going to fall down. To lose another battle was pointless, so better not to even try.

_"Am I not worth trying?"_

His words were probably what hurt the most. Because they were true. But not in the way he thought. He was worth, he was; he was worth anything and everything. But you weren't.

He never asked what was wrong, what started all of this. And it was for the best, because you have no idea how the pain started devouring your spirit. Maybe he had some ideas though; he was good at guessing and he could read you as a children's book, as if your empty, foggy, eyes were limpid and clear as colorful pictures of princesses and glittering fairies.

Glittering…

Soap bubbles glittered. Back then, when you two played with soap and the rounded things started fluttering and floating around the living room. Oily as puddles, but white and bright. Soap bubbles were like his laugh because a laugh can be oily too when it soothes, and calms, and brushes on your ears like gliding notes. A smooth laughter. And then, it was your own laughter. Laughing had been nice, the sound of your voice was sharp and rugged almost and it bounced from the bubbles back to your mouth. The watery spheres trembled at the sound and when they were about to shatter and explode in dozens of microscopic drops, they glittered as diamonds. Little dots of gleam.

How is it that things are always at their best the very second that foregoes the end? Just like the bubbles...

He never asked what was wrong, he just understood. And then, he was by your side when you needed him. And when you burst out crying looking at your eyes through the reflection on the oily bubbles, he didn't ask you why, but he held you in his arms and hugged your frame, letting your head rest on his shoulders. He wasn't angry.

That was not pity. Love is not pity.

But love and pity are both emotions and you are not at ease with emotions. They are overwhelming. You are too much of a coward to fight them and learn how to use emotions. The gleam in the bubbles and the gleam in his eyes did make you wish you could feel as well. But it wasn't enough.

Ten days later, it was over.

"Am I not worth trying?" he cried, his violet eyes bright with anger, hurt, and tears.

No. You are so worthy.

"_I _am not worth trying," you mumbled.


	2. 2

_See? I too can be punctual with my updates when I want to. _

_I debated whether to raise the rating of this story to M because of this chapter, but I think rating T is safe enough. _

_Major Depressive Disorder, suicidal thoughts through the whole chapter, suicide attempt, second person narration._

_Enjoy_

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><p>It's not the lack of meals that got your stomach so empty. You know that.<p>

This feeling is one that no savory or funny food could ever fill. And the thought of food actually makes your stomach even sicker. It needs something but it doesn't know what exactly. And neither do you. But you would do with anything. Anything seems just fine in the evening, when the light posts' faint glows dull the borders of the people that keep passing past you. They walk, they run, someone has a phone at hand, some other is just messing with some loud child, demanding for the last issue of a comic or for a new toy. Some other is carrying bags, back from the grocery...

Why would you care.

Why would they care.

As soon as they pass beside you, they have already gone past, gone away. And so did you.

How long ago did you go past yourself? Who is the person that you are carrying around like a bag of stones, who does this face belong to?

The fresh fallen rain has filled in the broken asphalt's holes. They are quite a couple. Holes and water. Happily ever after. The puddles shine oily in the blackness of the sidewalk. They are not pure; nothing is. They will all be gone by the morning. Everything does. But this emptiness.

The stomach grumbles silently. It is giving up its complaints; they are useless and maybe it is starting to accept this self-inflicted pain and emptiness in which you are driving it. At least, now, you are both sharing the same fate.

The hands in your pockets are freezing cold, the fingertips have started going numb, but you do not care. Even if they did, they are never going to be numb like you, so it is no match; they can surrender for all you know. But you do not know, do not know anything. You know yourself no more than you know those people that keep strolling down the sidewalk. God knows what they are up to, if god existed, that is. You just wished you could shout at them to stop running or walking because everything is pointless. Keeping their minds busy with nothingness isn't going to erase the meaningless of lives. But, again, it's pointless, so you do not care and do not shout and barely keep walking, with no direction or aim of any sort.

You said you were following the wind once, but did it lead you to anything worth reaching? Maybe once. Once you have believed so. But it's all gone by now. Everything does.

Maybe you could shed some tears, just to go with the flow and mimic the water drops that are still cascading into the gloomy puddles on the asphalt, but there aren't any more tears in your eyes, now dull as foggy clouds. If you still cared, you would wonder how those irises could have been bright once. Words and tears aren't a food you can fill yourself with and then shed them away. It's not so simple. It never is.

But silence is somehow easy. Silence doesn't claim, doesn't draw, doesn't drive. Maybe you are full of something after all. Of all the mute words and thoughts that you are too lazy and cowardly to voice out. Goodbyes are heavy and you do not need any more weight pressing on your chest. That old bottle green coat is enough. There is no need for your shoulders to curve any further. Not even time will bend them.

It has gone so far that you even stopped caring about stopping all this process. You would call it crazy, a crazy process, but the word is far too dynamic to describe this feeling. It all happens in slow motion, as if you were watching things behind a blurred glass; people seem engulfed into a grey, light, mist, like the one you are exhaling from your nostrils at any breath. You can't see any face properly and all of them look the same. The same fakeness, meaninglessness, futility, helplessness.

You don't want to say goodbye yet, maybe you are just too lazy to even voice the few syllables and you stopped talking so long ago you could have forgotten what it feels like and how you are supposed to do that. Or, maybe, you are just too cowardly to write the end word to the bunch of white, scattered pages that is your life. You have always been a coward. But why bother with the self-pity? The only battle that you won was the one against your fingers; they can't possibly be more numb than you.

If you still trusted your own eyes and abilities, you would say that the world around you is so naïve and childish. But your eyes never told you the truth, and watching the people walking down the street is like to try to discern showmen's shapes from the black and white fog of an old television screen. Even the sound is that muffled, maybe the cold has finally got into your ears too.

As the night goes by and your feet carry you down the icy streets, the people are becoming less and less numerous. Maybe you should go to sleep too, but you are too drenched in loneliness to try and find the company of an old cushion or blanket.

There is another oily surface in the distance, the pale gleam of the winter moon pointlessly tries to make the sea nicer for your eyes, but the dirt water is only staining the white glow, the black devours the light and the moon will lose its pointless battle with the dirty waves. They calmly strike the reflection and erase it away, dropwise, a confidence in their own ability that you wish you could have. But now it wouldn't do you any good. It's pointless.

Searching for your reflection in the rippled surface of the water is pointless. Clinging to the freezing cold iron railing, stained with weak orange rust, is pointless. The trembling of your cold body and the slow, feeble groans of your stomach are pointless. Not feeling any more is pointless. Pain won't fade away and still you can't tell what it looks like. It's something that has been so deeply and so long clasped into your rib cage that you can't even detect it from other emotions. If you can still feel them. You couldn't fathom what your pain's symptoms are. They are just there.

_You_ are pointless.

Feeling… feeling maybe wouldn't be pointless. Is the cold pointless? Is the cold an emotion? Maybe it would be easy to actually feel cold, just for a second, for the space of a breath. It would be nice, or different at least, to feel something. Would the water mind if you stained it with your numb fingers as well? The moon has already tried to touch it, but it is failing, you are no better than the moon, but you don't have a real aim so you can't really fail either.

Even if numb, your fingers still capture something. Movement, the water surrounds them, up and down, slowly, soothing. The rhythm of the waves is like a lullaby, they caress your hand. The wind brushes on your flesh and when you draw your hand back, you can actually feel it: cold. Freezing cold. Why is it that you only felt the cold when you pulled your hand away? But why would you care? It's pointless, isn't it as well?

How curious. When you merge the fingers into the water again, they are warm. The water is warmer than the icy, cynic air of the night. It's been so long since the last time you felt warmth. The blades of the wind can't reach you underwater. The pain in your rib cage can't reach you if you are warm enough, if you can think about something else. The water will fill the void in your stomach. The lullaby of the waves will make up for all the words you wished you were still able to say.

It's so simple. To feel the warmth of the icy sea the only thing you need to do is to welcome the water on your skin, then draw back and let the night lash you and pull your hair away violently. But the waters are welcoming. They don't seem to mind your presence as they do with the moonlight. They aren't trying to erase you away. They want you to join their orchestra. You have no idea what role would fit you. Maybe you could be the maestro, without needing to play any instrument or sing and voice your words. Voices are painful. That is why this song is so beautiful. It is silent.

Maybe you could just be a viewer, comfortably seated between the waves.

Your coat swirls and floats all around you whilst the sea welcomes your shoulders.

All of this won't make sense tomorrow. It never does.

But, maybe, you have realized that you don't want tomorrow to come this time.


	3. 3

_I couldn't leave you with the tragedy, could I? Please, welcome warmly the second character of this story (any guess about their identity?)_

_Double pov, second and third person narration, major depressive disorder, puzzleshipping._

_Enjoy and if you liked my story or have any suggestion to give, please, leave a comment!_

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><p>It wasn't something he was waiting for. It was something he had rather hoped. He had hoped to feel again that desire to go looking for the other. More than a week had passed since they had parted, and he was starting to sincerely get worried.<p>

But he could not get past the feeling of betrayal. He felt like he had been used, and then thrown away like an old tool. Broken and worn-out. Still he knew that it wasn't so simple, that the other man would never use him. And Yugi had desperately tried to grip onto guilt or loneliness, even pity, to find the strength to go searching for Yami. But guilt and loneliness did not outweigh anger. He had plenty of strength. It was the will to go searching that he lacked.

The other man loved that word: pointless. Maybe grieving in anger was pointless. And hoping for his feelings to respond to his loneliness in order to use them as an excuse to go out and walk the streets, trying to find Yami, was pointless as well. But love wasn't pointless. And he had forgotten to tell the other man, the last time they talked.

He knew for a matter of fact that if he wandered through the fading lights of the city he would stumble upon Yami eventually. The man just strolled down the streets by nights and somehow always ended up in the same place. There was no room for worry then. The only things he could think about were the words he wished he could tell the other and the memories they had shared.

The shoes squeaked on the watery asphalt, the pale puddles reflected glimpses of purple colored hair and focused eyes. But they were not focused on the road or on the night. Yugi dived his hands deeply into his pockets, roaming and gripping in the warm fabric to fight off the cold. It was always cold. And Yami was always cold. The idiot.

It was a wonder how the sea could not be covered in ice, not even a tiny layer of shining frost. But how can you merge yourself in water if it is frozen? You just can't. So, maybe, that man with a dark, soaked, coat was lucky after all.

Yugi's violet irises wandered on the shape between the black waves for a couple of seconds. He would be able to recognize Yami even keeping his eyes closed. It was icy cold outside and the young man could already see the other's body going numb from the gelid waters. There were so many things he wanted to say to talk Yami out of that. Or maybe he just wanted to talk with him again, to tell him he had missed him. But the coldness' freezing hands held his tongue and heart tight. He glared at the man, even though he knew he could not be seen: Yami had his back turned at him. That said something about their relationship.

The idiot.

"About to forget, already?" he hissed through his teeth.

The voice that makes you turn your head doesn't belong to the sea's orchestra. The waves have a silent, calming way of mumbling, but this voice is sharp and nicked with hurt. His voice.

"Is this your way of saying goodbye?".

Is it? You don't know. But his tone is scolding and stern. Not as cold as your fingers though. It reminds you of the times you two fought. He used to shout and scold you, his cheeks red with anger and emotion. And you would push him away, shoving him off with your hands. His back would hit the wall. Then he would grab your shoulders because he knew you were going to run away. You always did. But he knew. He just understood. And then he would talk, shout again, even cry sometimes, shaking your frame to try and arouse you from your impassiveness. It usually worked. Yet, not all the time.

"Am I not even worth this? Am I not worth a goodbye?". Now his voice is not angry any more. It's shaking like leaves on a fall day and it's probably equally cracked as well. But it is not dull as the leaves. His voice is always brighter than that.

This isn't fair. Now you wish you were not here because suddenly all of this seems stupid and childish, just like the people that are walking down the streets, and you are sorry because you made him worried. Yet, you like the feeling of the dancing waves around your body and of the coat, which is swirling between your legs. What is wrong? With you, with him, with everything?

He should go back home, he doesn't like the cold and it's going to make him sick. You don't want him to be sick. Don't want anything bad to happen to him. His eyes are telling you that he does not intend to leave though. Who are you to change his mind? You turn your head back to the sea, staring at the reflection of you and him in the rippling water. He's still looking at you.

"Go home."

So you do know how to talk after all. Words feel strange on your tongue, mostly because you know that your voice could never compare to his. And you were right before: voices are painful.

If Yugi didn't know better, he would have thought that Yami was joking. But he wasn't going to come back home. It was cold, yes, but it wasn't the cold he was afraid of. It was Yami's eyes and voice. And he had to make sure that that night the other man didn't do anything too stupid to make up for. Honestly, he couldn't fathom what made their lives cross and tie together. But it must have been a tight knot because even though he had tried so hard to untie or at least loosen it, the more he struggled, the more the knot strengthened. He didn't even know if it was the same for Yami. He didn't seem tied to anything in the world, free to float from one place to another and no rope could ever hang him down on earth. It was hard. But Yugi knew he didn't do that on purpose: the man would have given everything to stop wandering places in his mind. That made him suffer like some form of agoraphobia: the world was too wide, his mind was too empty, and his steps kept echoing back on its walls.

And here he was. Looking at the calm waves with the interest and innocence of a child. Maybe he didn't have a clue of what was going on, or maybe he did. But he didn't care. Yami's eyes were dull as stones, red, rigid, stones.

Yugi's heart was broken again: half drenched in relief and joy and half soaked in anger and anguish. He had to choose what half of his heart he wanted to keep. Yami had taught him this at least: life will never give you something for nothing.

You hear some muffled sounds behind your back: could he possibly have left? It's not like him to leave you like that. What now? You wish he would not leave? Yes, you do. He's only been here for a few minutes and you can already feel some of the numbness flowing away from your body. You know that if he leaves now, the void in your stomach will open up again. Yet, you are afraid that he will not be enough to fill it for good and you are afraid to look at the water again to try and spot his reflection behind yours.

The axes of the pier creak and crackle, like under the weight of something heavier than usual, or because they are subjected to an unusual stress. He should hate Yami. He had all the right to, but to hate him was simply harder than to love him. Actually, Yugi's choice had not been that difficult once he had this figured out. He crouched on the wooden pier, legs crossed, and reached out to brush the sea with his fingers. It was freezing.

Yami was only a few feet away. He was. And suddenly the emotions reached Yugi. He had been missing the other man so much, worrying about him and ruminating about their latest words. Seeing him again had opened a window inside his mind and feelings were storming outside like small, fluttering bats. The cold was forgotten and he thought he could almost cry. They could work it out. Yugi would force him to if needed.

Something plunged inside the water and a few salty drops reach your back. That something is coming closer; you can hear the splash sounds behind you and the struggle of a body against the coldness and strength of the water. You should shove him away again, just like you did when you two fought, but you don't want him to go either so you just wait here, still and silent. You always are.

He eventually reaches you and you turn towards him. He's trembling but his face is relaxed and relief gleams from his eyes like the moonlight from its watery reflection, all around you. He is not smiling but you know that he wants to. Yet, the time has not come already. And he melts the ice in your ribcage, he fills the void with his simple presence and you can feel your tears fighting behind your eyes because they want to fall down, to escape and greet him.

You lean your head on his shoulder; it fits perfectly. You could rest like that for hours or days. But this time you allow yourself only some minutes.

"I'm sorry…," you whisper under your breath. He nods absently; he was expecting those words.

"I know," he says. There is silence, but you love this kind of silence because it is not heavy or overwhelming. You can enjoy and search for it not because you want to run away from the voices and from the truths of words. You don't need excuses to cherish this kind of silence.

"You are worth it, Yugi," and you mean every syllable "You are worth anything".

"You are too." But you shake your head at that. He doesn't try to persuade you otherwise and breathes a heavy sigh. The smile is still not showing and you don't want him to go before he gives you at least one. You don't want him to go even after he has smiled actually.

"What do you want to do, huh?" he asks. You can't stand his eyes. The way they decode your soul scares you.

"I do not want you to suffer," you answer after a while.

"But you do want me to stay," his reply is always the right one; how does he do that?

"That's selfish."

"Then _be_ selfish, for fuck's sake!"

You suddenly turn your head at him and stare. It's been a long time since he last swore, not that you mind however. His eyes are completely focused on you. Anything that you lack, he has. Everything that you need, he will do his best to give you and if he won't be able to, he will search and find something better. Would you do the same? You wish you could; it's something at least, right?

A weak smile graces your lips, this time it will be you to smile first.

"I love the way you think."

"I love _you_," he says. Your smile brightens lightly, a small sparkle of warmth spreads through your body. How could you have been so foolish to try and search comfort in the cold? And finally, the words escape your lips; they waited so long.

"Me too."

Yugi smiles this time. He knows how to smile and his smiles are nothing like yours, maybe he could teach you someday. You can feel his hand searching for yours underwater until he eventually finds it. He squeezes it tightly, pulling it by his side, his fingers entwine with yours. He moves his head a small bit and leans a soft, light kiss on your cold cheek.

"Let's go home then."


End file.
